


Self-Made, Self-Serving (Self-Loathing)

by YouLookGoodInLeather



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Attempted Feminism, Character Study, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Cuddling, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 11:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10898616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouLookGoodInLeather/pseuds/YouLookGoodInLeather
Summary: Grieving over their father in their seperate ways, Elain and Nesta cannot find solace in one another. And Nesta is fine. She will always be fine. Until she’s not.And Cassian - the bastard - is there to catch her.





	Self-Made, Self-Serving (Self-Loathing)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [enchantedtomeetyou22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enchantedtomeetyou22/gifts).



“Stop that.”

“I can’t! He’s  _ dead _ , Nesta! And they said there’s no way he’s ever coming back.”

“He’s not worth your tears, Elain. Regardless of what he did on the continent, he was a monster. He abandoned and neglected us and then was such a coward as to pretend it had never happened.”

“I don’t care. He was my father.  _ Our _ father.”

“He was no father of mine.”

Though the two sisters were alone, Nesta was painfully aware that their raised voices would carry through this damned House of Wind like traitors slipping into the night. Against these fae strangers, whom she still had yet to really trust, she could not afford to show weakness between herself and her sister. They had to be one strong, united front. Else she’d really lose everything she’d ever cared for. 

“He was,” Elain yelled, her pretty face screwed up in howling fury, tears bleeding from her reddened eyes. “He  _ made _ you, taught you how to read and write, took you riding, bought you back presents from travelling. He never once did that for me. You were  _ always _ his favourite.” Glaring at her sister with such bitter anger that for a moment Nesta did not recognise her, she spat, “You’re just too much of a- a bitch to realise it.” 

“Elain,” Nesta whispered, her voice hollow. She thought she might be going to be sick. 

“No,” Elain snapped. “No, you don’t get to take him from me. You can’t make me like you. I don’t want to be. I  _ want _ to love him. I never, ever want to be like you.” 

For once, Nesta had no snarky comeback, no clever words to defend herself with. Elain was the one person she thought she’d never have to fight. With her, she left herself wide open. And Elain had struck her right where she bled best. 

“Get out,” Elain mumbled,staring at the floor for a long minute before charging at her sister and shoving her backwards. “Get out! I don’t want to see you, don’t want to look at you when I think of him. All I think about is how cruel you were to him. How you  _ made _ him do this. Made him think he had to sacrifice himself to prove his love for us! You killed him Nesta.” Steely eyed, Elain straightened, her once gentle face as sharp and deadly as any blade. “I hate you.” 

Nesta did not flee. She had vowed she never would. Would never show fear. Never show weakness. So instead she walked slowly from the room, then marched at a steady pace down the corridor and up the stairs to her own quarters. Only once the door was safely closed behind her did she allow her mask of complete indifference to falter, crack, and fall. Only then did she allow herself to cry.

Her legs no longer able to support her, she sunk to her knees. She had been on a break from combat training for a month now, and yet everything ached. Her soul ached. Sobbing, she gasped and panted and cursed, trying to heave that heavy, cold shield of hers back up, to isolate herself within the thorny boundaries of her body so that she could just stop. Stop feeling. Stop hating everything. Most of all herself. 

Yet they couldn’t be stopped. Her emotions, which she kept bottled up so tightly every day, spilled from her like water breaking free of a damn. It was like trying to hold onto sand, grains of pain and self-loathing and grief pouring from the pores in her skin until she stopped trying to hold on and simply wept. 

Hard and alien against her thigh, she pulled the wooden carving from her father out of her skirts. It was an ugly, incompetent thing, yet it carried so much in its simple, childish design. So many years of watching her father abandon them mentally and spiritually. So many years of watching him carve these stupid, damned things whilst she fought a private battle of trying to  _ will _ him to take action. 

For Elain had not been wrong. She  _ had _ once been his favourite. And when misfortune had befallen them, she had been a foolish, foolish little girl. Had believed daddy would be alright and strong and brave so long as she showed him just how much she was hurting. Just how much she despised this new state of inaction he had assumed. By the time she realised he no longer cared what she thought of him, it was too late. She had buried herself in too much armour. Even when she tried, she could not shirk it off. The pain was too much. Had festered too long. 

Somewhere along the way, she thought she’d lost her soul. 

Yet now it flooded from her like a gaping wound, ruining her muscles and shaking the centre of her bones. The only person she thought she could truly be gentle around had sliced her nape to navel, however metaphorically. And she had been  _ right _ . She felt empty. Felt broken. For all of those betrayals - her father, Thomas, her sister and the cauldron - had each pushed her down deeper. Proved time and time again that warmth, softness,  _ love _ , was just asking to get hurt. Only Elain had seemed barren of patient knives.

Yet now she was fae. Now she’d been tainted by this land of war and hatred and morals. Somewhere along the way, Elain had learned to cut people at the throat. It was only a matter of time before she turned on Nesta. After all, it was the fashion. The one thing all these strangers and monsters and sisters had in common. To them, Nesta was someone to be wounded, dragged down. Violated. 

Rage clutched at her. As always, she tried to hold it tight, drag it back to her to build into walls and shields and weapons.Yet this time, for some strange reason, it slid and slipped from her grasp like warm butter. What had once protected her now gutted her. Elain, who had once been her rock, her purpose, had banished her. 

She was naked before the harsh light of dawn, spraying in through her window.

Could she reconcile with the ghost of her father? For Elain, for Feyre? For herself? 

If only he had remained a hateful bastard to the end. If only villains were easy, like Hybern, where no gold dwelled beneath their skin, and they were purely rotten to the core. If only her father hadn’t tried. If only he hadn't listened to her, she could give her rage some focus. Keep going. Hold herself together.

Instead of collapsing upon the floor. 

“Nes?” A soft voice asked as the door opened against the soles of her feet, catching half way. Cassian, giant brute that he was, couldn’t even fit through the gap, though he certainly tried. Grunting, he stopped shoving when he realised what was blocking his path. “Nes. We heard- I thought-” He cut off, swallowing. Nesta barely managed to contain her crying, her breathing ragged and shallow but at least she wasn’t sobbing. 

“You want to talk about it?”

No. No, no, no. Nesta never talked about it.  _ Never _ spoke about it. She couldn’t afford to, couldn’t afford to let anyone in like that ever again. Couldn’t hope a man would bring her some sense of comfort, not after Thomas. Couldn’t hope people could be trusted, not after her father. Couldn’t think others could keep her safe, not after the cauldron. 

But what weapons did she have? What comfort? What hope?

She had nothing to lose. So instead of seething for him to go away, she shuffled onto her rear and cried. Cried long and hard and openly, allowing the waves of misery and guilt and sorrow to echo through her body until she became aware of a thick arm around her shoulder, her head cradled to a firm, broad chest. A hand was stroking her hair, a warm, kind voice hushing her, mumbling that it would ‘be okay’. Though she did not let herself believe it, the warmth of body heat and the comfort of the contact soothed her. Finally, she fell quiet. 

“Elain didn’t mean it,” Cassian said after a long, long time, his chin rested atop her head. She felt so numb, so exhausted, that she could not bring herself to wriggle free, to feel embarrassed. For once, she let herself relax into the offer of kindness. She could sink no lower after all. “She’s just grieving. She’ll come around.”

“She’s right,” Nesta said, her voice hoarse, barely audible, but she knew Cassian heard and understood her from the way his hand stopped rubbing circles on her back. “I  _ am  _ a bitch.”

“You’re not-”

“No, Cassian, I am. And I’m glad to be. I want to be. It’s what I want to be. My way of…” Of staying safe. Of having some agency in this world of female oppression and viciousness and stupid, unfair destinies. The maliciousness of fate. “I just wish it was easier. Easier to be more than just that.” 

“Nesta,” Cassian said, slow and low. She glanced over to look at him, and found his brow creased in seriousness, which on someone normally so comical and brash was almost entertaining. “You  _ are _ so much more than that. Sure you’re- yeah. You can be mean.  _ Really _ mean. But that’s just part of who you are. And it’s not  _ only _ who you are.”

“I’m not Mor,” Nesta said thickly, curling her hands into fists. “I’m not my sisters. I don’t- I don’t ‘see the good in everything’. I can’t. I don’t want to. I shouldn’t have to.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Shifting, Cassian loosened his grip from her and shuffled around on the floor so that he sat cross-legged opposite her, their knees touching. “I mean I love Mor, and I love my High Lady. Elain seems pretty great too. But I don’t wish you were them. Don’t think you’re any less brave or powerful or loving.”

This time, Nesta snorted, narrowing her eyes as she looked up at him. “Yeah, I’m all secretly sunshine and daisies. What, you claiming you can ‘see my soul’? That only  _ you _ truly know me?”

“No.” Cassian glanced down at their joint knees as he stroked his forefinger up and down her leg. She could not honestly claim that she minded. “I think everyone sees it. How you are with Elain. How you were at the meeting with the High Lords. How you fought for everyone _ including  _ yourself on the battleground.

Mor and Feyre are my best friends, Nesta. But they also endanger themselves and hurt themselves far too willingly for others. You though… you’re so… so powerful in yourself. So sure of your convictions and your worth and your loyalty. I’ve never met a woman who’s so… so incensed. So filled with-” He sighed, wringing his hands and looking at her bashfully. “I don’t know. I’m not great with words, five hundred years of practice and all. But I do know that I think you’re every bit as loving as the others. You just guard yourself and others much more closely.”

“I am so  _ angry _ ,” Nesta whispered, unsure of why she chose the confession. Something about his words had struck so true, that she felt like she owed him honesty. Like she wanted to prove him wrong. “All the time. Everything around me is always,  _ always _ a disappointment. A betrayal. An obstacle that won’t move. And it’s driving me insane. I am just  _ so _ angry, all the time.” 

Cassian was quiet for a moment, thinking,before a small smile played upon his lips, crooked and smirking and oh so gently teasing. “I’ve noticed,” he observed dryly, laughing a little when she whacked him lightly on the arm. “Sorry, sorry.”

“I’m trying to be serious here.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just… you have every right to be? Why shouldn’t you be angry? So many things have happened to fuck you over. But you keep getting angry. Keep fighting back.” Looking at her with solemn, honest eyes, he touched a hand to hers lightly. “I really admire you, Nesta. If I hadn’t found Rhys and Az and Mor when I did… I don’t think I could have stayed as strong as you. As loving. And as angry.” 

“You’re an idiot,” Nesta said flatly, though she did so with a small smirk that Cassian quickly mirrored. “And absolute idiot.”

“Least I’ve got my pretty face to redeem me,” he said lightly, batting his eyelashes. He looked so ridiculous that Nesta couldn’t help bursting out laughing, even though her chest still throbbed with a dull ache and Elain’s words rolled on replay in the back of her head. 

“So in other words you’re doomed?” Cassian gasped theatrically. 

“Such rudeness! I’ll have you know I won last year’s Illyrian Beauty Queen contest.” 

Shaking her head, Nesta at the very least felt herself returning somewhat to normal. Her skin no longer felt like a raw, exposed wound. Her eyes had stopped overflowing. “Because that’s a real thing.”

“You ask Mor sometime,” Cassian said with a ‘holier than thou’ air of condescension. “She’s still not forgiven me for stealing her crown. Though I can’t take all the credit. Rhysand  _ did _ help me pick out the dress.” 

Raising an eyebrow at him, Nesta stared him down before giving up and pushing herself to stand. “Okay. You’re not a  _ complete _ bastard,” Nesta huffed. “No pun intended.”

“Flattery will get you  _ everywhere _ , darling.” Swiftly rising to stand before her, Cassian gazed down at her. Slowly, as if afraid of spooking her, he took her hand in his and raised it to his lips, kissing the backs of her knuckles, never once looking away from her eyes. “You shall always be the  _ most _ , the strongest, the fiercest to me. And I shall be forever at your service.”

Gazing back at him, Nesta felt the familiar rush of a dozen snippy comments dancing on her tongue, but for once she bit the back and smirked. “I’ll be sure to make use of that promise some time.”

“See that you do,” Cassian said, matching her expression with delighted mischief in his eyes. “I make a  _ very _ attentive servant.” 

“We’ll see about that.”

“Is that a promise?” Pursing her lips, Nesta inclined her head to him and retrieved her hand.

“Maybe.”   

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on squaddreamcourt @ Tumblr to chat shit and memes and cry about ACOTAR and other geeky things.


End file.
